


Itty Bitty Bones

by snuggleskull



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Bittybones, Gen, Gender-neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:30:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9342173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snuggleskull/pseuds/snuggleskull
Summary: You find a small skeleton too traumatized to speak. The only thing to do is take him home with you.(No real plot here friends, just a short story about finding an itty bitty friend)





	1. Meeting

Cheerful music blasts through your earbuds. You walk quickly down the dark street. There’s no one else around. Working the closing shift isn’t unusual for you, so you can ignore the stillness of the usually busy area when you walk home.

Listening to music helps. It gives you pep in your step after a long day. Although nothing has ever happened to you on your way home before, the discrete can of mace in your jacket pocket also gives you some sense of security.

As you go past the mouth of an alley, you see something out of the corner of your eye. Not wanting any trouble, you take a few more steps before coming to a stop. You think you saw a flicker of purple light in that black alleyway. You cautiously turn around, unable to restrain your curiosity.

You peer down the dingy space between two buildings. There’s a silhouette of an overflowing dumpster on one side and some trash bags on the other. A dim purple light is coming from somewhere down there.

You can faintly hear something over the chords of your music. Your cold stiff fingers remove an earbud. Is someone whimpering?

“Hello? Do you need help?” You call out against your better judgement.

The noise stops. Just as you’re about to write the whole thing off, the light flickers again and the whimpering starts louder than before. Your feet take you into the alley without conscious thought.

As you go further down, you see that there is something else next to the trash bags. It’s a beaten up old box laying on it’s side. The dim purple glow and noises are coming from inside it.

You kneel down and feel the cold damp of the concrete seeping into your jeans. One of the box flaps blocks your view. You reach out and lift it up.

It takes a moment for you to process what you are seeing. When your brain catches up to your eyes, a horrified gasp escapes you. It’s a bitty bone.

You’ve seen them before. Recently, the little skeletons seem to have become a popular pet. You aren’t sure if “pet” is really the right word to use, since they are sentient creatures. But you always thought they looked cute in their tiny clothes.

This bitty bone is naked. He’s cowering away from you. His small dirty skeleton body is shoved as far into the corner of the box as it can be. Purple tears are leaking out of his eye sockets. Inside the bones of his rib cage floats a small glowing purple heart.

You lean forward and extend your hand to pick him up. His heart flickers and the sound that comes out of his mouth is primal terror. You draw back quickly.

“Hey, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”

You try to reassure the bitty bone. But he doesn’t seem to hear you. It looks like he’s too terrified to understand anything you say. There are specs of purple dust gently floating away from his heart. They sputter like embers and then go out.

You’ve never owned a bitty bone, but you’re not stupid. The shivering skeleton is dying. You can’t leave him like this.

“I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. It’s gonna be okay. I’m taking you home with me.”

As you lift up the box, the bitty bone lets out a piercing wail. Then he falls silent. Your heart clenches.

What if you look down and there’s only dust?

You rush the rest of the way home. Once you make it through the door of your apartment, you kick off your shoes. Only then can you bear to check the contents of the box.

The bitty bone lays unconscious. His purple heart feebly pulses. He’s alive.

You take a deep breath. For just a moment, you let yourself relax. Then you get to work.

You set your messenger bag down on your comfy second-hand couch. The box and the bitty bone are put on the living room table in front of it. Then you go to the kitchen.

The first thing you want to do is warm him up. You don’t know if a bitty bone can feel cold, but he was shivering. So you put your hot water bottle in the microwave and wait.

When it’s ready, you take it back to the living room. It’s so tempting to take the bitty bone out of the dirty box. But you don’t want him to be in an unfamiliar place when he wakes up. He would probably panic.

You set the water bottle down in the box. It’s a special bottle, covered in fleecy material. Comforting heat radiates out from it.

Then you gently scoop up the bitty bone. He feels weightless in your hands. The bones that you thought would jab and poke leave no indentations on your skin.

You set him down on the fluffy water bottle. It’s probably only your imagination, but it looks like he nestles into it. You root through your bag, looking for something that could be a blanket.

The only thing you can find is a rumpled cloth handkerchief. It was a gift and it has your initials monogrammed in the corner. You think it’s too nice to use, so it’s clean.

You carefully cover the poor little skeleton with it.

A yawn makes your jaw pop uncomfortably. It’s way past your bedtime. You stare down at the bitty bone. You’re not leaving him alone out here.

You drag the comforter off of your bed. One of the couch cushions becomes your pillow. You curl up on the couch, exhausted.

“Goodnight,” you whisper. The purple glow of the bitty bone’s heart comforts you as you drift into sleep.


	2. Feeding

At first, you’re confused when you wake up on the couch. The sun shines brightly through the window, making you squint. You slowly sit up and stretch. Today is your day off, so you didn’t set an alarm.

You fish your phone out of your bag. It’s already 11! Last night had really exhausted you… Now you remember. You found a frightened little skeleton and brought him home!

The box sits inconspicuously where you left it on the table. There’s no sound or movement coming from it. Maybe the bitty bone is still asleep?

You shift forward to peek inside. The bitty bone is sitting in the far left corner of the box. He’s huddled underneath your handkerchief, his small hands clutch it tightly. Purple tears pour from his eye sockets.

“Oh, no. Sweetie, it’s okay. You’re safe here.”

You try to comfort him, but he only quivers at the sound of your voice. The tears actually seem to increase. You hate that he’s so scared. All you want to do is pick him up and give him a hug.

“I promise, I won’t hurt you. Can I touch you?”

He lets out a quiet whine and frantically shakes his head. That’s a no. You’re disappointed, but not surprised. At least he understands what you’re saying.

“Okay. I won’t touch you without your permission. It’s alright.”

He stares up at you disbelievingly. His purple pupils follow your every movement, like he’s waiting for you to attack. Just what had he been through?

You don’t dwell on that thought. If you did, then you would be a crying mess too. bitty bones depend on their caretakers, but someone had let this one down.

A hungry growl from your stomach interrupts your thinking. The skeleton’s eye sockets widen in surprise. You see one of his hands subconsciously move to where his own stomach would be.

“Are you hungry too?”

The slightest nod of his skull makes you smile. He’s communicating. That must be a step in the right direction. There is only one problem. You have no idea what a small skeleton eats.

“What do you want?”

He ducks his head and pulls the handkerchief higher up to hide his face. You sigh. One step forward and two steps back.

Seriously, what do bitty bones eat though? You try to look it up on your phone. It seems that different bitty bones have unique preferences. Some like raw meat, others want tacos, and there are a few that only drink condiments.

There is no choice but to experiment. You stand up. Your hands slowly grasp the sides of the box.

“I won’t touch you. But I don’t want to leave you alone. So I’m taking you to the kitchen with me.”

Before the bitty bone can protest, you carefully pick up the box. It’s almost weightless, besides for the water bottle. This time he doesn’t wail, so you consider it a win.

The kitchen is small, but there’s enough counter space to set the box down. You can’t help grimacing. The box is damp and dirty. You’ll have to thoroughly disinfect everything later.

The fridge is pretty bare. You need to go shopping soon. But there’s a bottle of ketchup on the door. Might as well try that first.

The bottle is almost twice the size of the skeleton. He’s weak too, so there’s no way he can hold it up by himself. You don’t think he’ll let you feed him either. Looking through your cupboards for a solution, you find a shot glass. Your friend gave it to you for your 21st birthday.

You squeeze enough ketchup into the glass to reach the rim. Then you delicately place it in the box. The skeleton watches your hand retreat from beneath the safety of the handkerchief.

“Bone-appetit!”

You joke, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn’t move. Talk about a tough audience. Your stomach growls. Right, you need breakfast too.

It’s your day off. You don’t have any plans either. So you decide to treat yourself and make pancakes.

You take out a large bowl, a wooden spoon, and a box of pancake mix. After a couple eggs and some vigorous stirring, you are ready to get your pancake show on the road. Cooking puts you in a good mood. It’s nice to be able to provide for yourself.

Humming contentedly, you pour a few spoonfuls of batter into a frying pan. It sizzles as it meets the hot surface. While you wait for your pancakes, you check-in on your skeleton’s breakfast.

The ketchup is untouched. It doesn’t look like he has moved at all. You frown. That’s strike one. Better try something else.

You open the freezer. There are some uncooked meatballs that you are saving for the next time you cook spaghetti. It’s the closest thing to raw meat that you have.

You only pull one out. It’s about the same size as the little one’s skull. Then you stick it in the microwave and hit the defrost button.

Luckily, you get back to your pancakes just before they pass the point of golden brown to burnt. You stack up three on a plate and then rummage around for some maple syrup. Just as the microwave beeps, you let out a triumphant “Ah, ha!” You pour a generous amount of syrup on your crispy pancakes. It smells divine.

You set your plates down next to the box. Then you get the meatball. Your nose wrinkles, the raw meat isn’t very appealing. But you don’t judge, apparently some bitty bones love it.

“Alright. Let’s try this.”

The skeleton’s skull has emerged from beneath the handkerchief. He isn’t crying anymore either. Thank goodness.

He watches as you set the meatball next to the shot glass. It looks like he sniffs the air with his nostril hole. His expression is anticipatory. Almost as soon as you remove your hand, he stands up.

The handkerchief trails behind him as he walks over to your newest offering. You hold your breath as he grabs a large hunk of meatball. He stuffs it all in his mouth.

Somehow his eye sockets close as he chews. Before you can celebrate, his eye sockets snap open. He spits it out, coughing and sputtering. His hand desperately claws at his purple tongue, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. His eye sockets tear up again. You want to cry too.

“I’m so sorry, little guy. I don’t know what to feed you!”

You guiltily start eating your pancakes, defeated for the moment. Looks like you’ll have to go get groceries right away. You can’t let the bitty bone starve.

As you bring a forkful of pancakes to your mouth, the tiny skeleton mewls. You stop and look down. He’s gazing up at you, his tearful eyes focused on the pancakes and his mouth trembling. His hands reach up shakily.

It’s so cute that your heart skips a beat. You fight against the urge to coo at him.

“Wait. Do you want my pancakes?”

He nods and stretches up further. You take a calming breath. Then you lower the fork down to him.

His boney hands hesitantly reach out to grasp the stem of the fork. It makes a tiny clacking noise. You let him guide the fork closer. He sniffs the pancakes before taking a nibble.

It disappears so quickly that you aren’t sure, but you think he smiles. Somehow he swallows and take another bite. You steadily hold the fork in place. When he finishes, there’s syrup dripping from his jaw.

“Do you want more?”

He nods and looks away, but not before you see the purple blush on his cheekbones. You chuckle and get another forkful of pancakes. With some astonishment, you feed the small skeleton about half of your pancakes.

When you offer him a fifth forkful, he shakes his head and pushes it away. You smile. In his hunger, the bitty bone had let you get pretty close.

“Okay. More for me than.”

You eat what remains of your pancakes. Then you set the plate in the sink. It’s time to tidy up the kitchen.

As you do the dishes, the little skeleton tries to wipe off the sticky syrup on his hands and jaw with the handkerchief. Rather than cleaning, his efforts just spreads the syrup around more. By the time you’re done, he’s made a bit of a mess.

“Wow. Looks like you’re in a sticky situation. I think you need a bath.”


	3. Naming

You and the small skeleton stare at each other. His unblinking eye sockets should be unnerving, but the expression in the purple glow of his wide pupils reminds you of those heartbreakingly sweet dogs and cats that you see on those anti-animal abuse commercials. Whenever one of those commercials comes on, you always mean to change the channel, but in the end you can’t force yourself to look away. It is equally impossible to turn your back on this bitty.

“Sweetie, you need a bath.” You repeat.

Somehow his syrup-covered mandible frowns as he tucks his chin down, obstinately shaking his skull in disagreement. You cover your mouth to hide the amused grin that spreads across your face. Now he seems more like a young child refusing bath time rather than a pitiful pet. At least the bitty is acting less timid.

A purple tongue peeks out of his mouth as he gingerly starts licking the maple syrup off his bones. You’re glad your hand is still covering your mouth, because watching the unsanitary act makes you want to gag. Maybe skeletons normally gave themselves tongue baths, but this skeleton had been left in a garbage strewn alley and who-knows-where before that. He might make himself sick, although you don’t know if things like germs can affect magical beings.

Better to play it safe either way.

The kitchen sink is as good a place as any. You turn on the faucet and stick your hand under the tap to make sure it’s not too hot. A quick trip to the bathroom provides you with the appropriate supplies: lavender body wash, a new toothbrush, and a dry washcloth.

On your return to the kitchen, the water in the sink has risen up to about the height of the skeleton’s collarbone. If it was your bath, you would drain it a little so that you could sit down and relax without submerging your head. However, given your small friend’s nervous nature, you doubt the little one will do much relaxing. So you just shut off the water and leave it.

Before you attempt to coax the bitty into the water, you dubiously consider the pair of pink plastic gloves that rest in the dish rack. What if the skeleton decides to fight back? You still haven’t touched him yet and although he is weak, his canine teeth are on the pointy side.

If he bites, it will hurt and then you might bleed on him which will totally defeat the purpose of the bath. On the other hand, you know that some animals benefit from skin contact. Your friend has a hedgehog and they explained to you that even though a hedgie might curl into a prickly defensive ball, if you use gloves, it takes longer for the hedgehog to get used to being handled and for them to recognize your scent.

But then again, he isn’t really an animal. Even though people keep bittybones as pets, they’re sentient beings. There is only one thing to do. You pick up the gloves and approach the skeleton’s box.

“Look, you’re taking a bath.” You explain and then wave the gloves in front of him. “Now, I want this to be as painless as possible. If you’re going to try and hurt me, I won’t blame you. But I’ll wear these to protect myself.”

The skeleton is curled up tighter than your friend’s hedgie. From the rattling noise and the shifting of the handkerchief, you know that he’s trembling. You frown sympathetically.

“I’m sorry that you’re scared. I won’t intentionally hurt you. Do I need to wear the gloves?”

After a long pause, he looks into your eyes likes he’s searching for something. You don’t know what he sees in them, but he shakes his skull. With a sigh of relief, you set down the gloves. This is good. Slowly but surely, you’re building trust.

Carefully, you reach down into the box. As you get closer, he flinches and squeezes his eye sockets shut tight. You gently grasp the soiled handkerchief and tease it away from his desperate hold. As he is left naked, the skeleton lets out a small whimper that makes your heart clench.

You take a deep breath to fortify yourself. Ever so cautiously, you reach toward the bitty again. Softly, tenderly you scoop him up between the cradle of your palms. The purple pupils that illuminate his dark eye sockets flicker and go out. He stops moving.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” You murmur fervently, scrambling over to the sink. You partially submerge your hands and the precious burden they carry into the warm water. The skeleton doesn’t react, he’s as still as a lifeless doll.

What have you done? A lump is forming in your throat. Tears begin to blur your vision.

“It’s alright.” You choke out. “I’m here. Please, come back. Can you hear me? You’re safe.” Pleading whispers fall from your lips as your fingers numbly stroke against the bitty’s fragile skull, willing him to respond.

You don’t know how long you stand there waiting.

It’s so slight, you almost don’t notice as the skeleton leans into your touch. You hold your breath. His smooth skull is nuzzling against your wet pruney fingers. His eye sockets drift shut as he starts- humming?

No, not humming.

Your little skeleton is purring! You realize that up until this moment you had not known true happiness. The purring pile of bones makes your heart full in ways you can’t explain.

“You really had me worried. Let’s not do that again.” You speak quietly. His eye sockets open fractionally and for just a moment you swear he smiles.

And then the moment is gone.

The bitty becomes more aware of the situation and pulls back from you and flails. Water splashes up into your eyes and you accidentally drop him into the sink as you jerk in surprise. His splashing becomes increasingly frantic. He doesn’t notice that the water is shallow enough for him to stand up. You wait for him to calm down, but a series of distressed squeaks make you take action.

You dip your hand into the water beside the struggling bitty. With no further encouragement, his small boney hands latch onto your pointer finger. His thrashing lessens and his squeaking trails off. The bitty holds onto you and treads water.

“You can stand up if you like.”

Hesitantly, the skeleton’s legs stop kicking and come to rest at the bottom of the sink. You giggle at the dumbfounded expression on his skull. Purple suffuses on his cheekbones.

“I guess you could say that was a slippery situation?” You tease.

His skull submerges deeper into the water, trying to escape your horrible puns.

“What’s the matter? You’re looking pretty flushed.” You continue. The bitty actually groans.

“Water you moaning about?” You grin cheekily down at him as you apply some of the lavender body wash to the new toothbrush. Rather than replying, the tiny skeleton thrusts his thin dirty arm toward you, eager to distract you from any further punnery.

You softly and thoroughly scrub him clean. Something catches your eye as you begin on his ribs. There, in the middle of his chest, is something carved into the bone of his sternum.

“DTD01?” You make out. It sends a shiver down your spine. The scar looks like a code or a designation number. “Is that your name?”

His newly clean phalanges brush over the gouges. His fingertips trace over it, lingering over the last digit. You can tell that he is remembering something unpleasant.

You wouldn’t have thought a skull could convey anguish, but every curve of the little skeleton’s bones indicated that the scar on his sternum is the mark of a tragedy.

“That’s not your name.” You conclude. “It doesn’t matter if that’s what you were called before, you can pick your own name. That’s what I did. What should I call you?” You know that names hold power. Every person has the right to the choose their own name.

He rests his hand against his sternum and look up at you. He studies your face awhile. Then he decisively points up at you.

“You want me to pick your name?” You shake your head incredulously. A low hum indicates his agreement. You stop scrubbing to think, this is a lot of responsibility.

“Well, you’re a skeleton… How about Scully?” The little skeleton splashes water into your face, intentionally this time. Unfortunately, you are much more gifted when it comes to thinking up puns then making up names.

He vetoes so many names that the water gets cold and you lift him out of the sink. You place him on the counter and hand him the washcloth to use as a towel. It’s frustratingly difficult to find a name for someone other than yourself.

“You’re really not keen on any of those?” You ask beseechingly. The next stop on the find-a-name train is the internet and you know that black void too well to want to explain that to your bitty today.

He looks up at you with bright eyes and grins.

It shocks you still.

“What? What did I say? You’re not… keen? You like ‘keen’?” You try to figure out what just happened to make the small sad skeleton look so happy.

He nods emphatically.

“I guess you are smart and you can be really loud sometimes…” You think back to how he screamed when you first found him in the alley. Who knew that less than a day later you would be here, standing in the kitchen with a new friend?

“Well, Keen, it’s nice to meet you. Make yourself at home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this up and posted it on tumblr a while back to introduce my OC bittybones. 
> 
> Here's a ref pic I drew: http://snuggleskull.tumblr.com/post/149824890467/heres-a-re-design-of-my-bittybones-you-can-read
> 
> And here is a super cute pic of him by bittersweetdeath: http://bittersweetdeath2.tumblr.com/post/141998868097/if-you-like-you-can-draw-my-oc-keen-you


End file.
